


Inevitable

by CatherineTypes



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Light Stabbing?, M/M, Modern AU, Self-Esteem Issues, Stabbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 11:41:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12364980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatherineTypes/pseuds/CatherineTypes
Summary: Drabble of a modern au in which Thomas and James spend their first year together.





	Inevitable

**Author's Note:**

> Completely un-betaed so for that I apologise in advance. Very partially inspired by the Wade/Vanessa montage near the beginning of Deadpool. This was supposed to be purely self indulgent fluff & smut as a way of writing for this fandom for the first time, but as it's these two a little angst crept in. Enjoy?

London in November was always fucking freezing, but James McGraw felt as though he was burning as Thomas walked him home through the dimly-lit streets. An ex-navy vet turned community college lecturer, he had been hired six months prior to work as a consultant alongside Thomas Hamilton, a lawyer but also prominent activist, as an advisor for the Nassau project, and now that it was over, the proposal put forward and funding secured, James found himself struggling more than ever with what he’d come to feel for the other man. He was beautiful, not just in form but in mind and heart, and being around him gave James a sort of strength he hadn’t known he possessed. He had been fighting almost all his life, of course, had honed his own dark streak to survive, but being near Thomas; it was more than that. It was a kind sort of strength, a guiding light, a feeling that between the two of them anything was possible.

Hence why James’ cheeks were scarlet under the lamp posts; Thomas was a colleague and a friend and this was utterly inappropriate. He and Miranda both claimed they were simply “good friends” but there were days when they seemed practically joined at the hip, gazing at James with the same intense smile. He was a public figure, not quite a celebrity but well known enough to have what seemed to James like a miniature cult on twitter, and for all he could be cunning and tricky he rarely, if ever, held back on his opinions. Meaning if he had noticed how James looked at him from the sidelines, nodded as he spoke while staring at his lips, defended him at any opportunity - well, surely if he felt as James did he would have said something by now. If he had noticed, he was probably keeping quiet out of pity for James, not sure how to let him down gently. Perhaps they could have gone on like this, but the events of the evening had to have been the last straw; when at their dinner, celebrating their recent success, Alfred Hamilton had unexpectedly shown up and made a scene and in retaliation James had loudly, furiously defended Thomas with only the briefest hesitation, eventually insisting in no uncertain terms, that Lord Hamilton ought to leave. It was only due to the presence of Thomas and Miranda’s upper class social circle that he had not used harsher language or physical threats, and he suspected Thomas had known that, which led them to this moment, James stomping with his back straight, eyes ahead and face carefully neutral on his way home with Thomas escorting him silently from behind.

They approached James’ door far too soon and James tried to swallow the lump in his throat when he heard Thomas clear his mouth to speak.

“Thank you, James. For everything.”  
James’ head snapped up and he immediately regretted it; the gaze of those blue eyes was far too intense.  
“Nobody’s ever defended me like that before. Miranda has tried, but my father…”  
“People can say what they like about you.” interrupted James, struggling to keep his head up instead of staring at his own boots. “...But you’re a good man.” he swallowed and again met Thomas’ eyes with his own. “More people should say that. And someone should be willing to defend it.”  
A heavy sort of silence fell between the two before Thomas took a step forward. James wasn’t sure what to expect; this was a scenario he had daydreamed more than once, but he couldn’t accept it was reality and not a dream at all, couldn’t accept Thomas’ gaze was flickering between James’ eyes and his lips, couldn’t accept that the hands on his shoulders were there in a sense beyond platonic…  
Only when Thomas leaned in towards him, too close to be intending anything else, did James start to close his eyes, thinking that if this was a dream he might as well enjoy it, and tilted his chin up slightly to be kissed. The truth hit him all all at once; Thomas really did have his mouth on James’, one hand on James’ bicep, the other gently stroking his cheek. Stunned, James slowly brought his hands up to Thomas’ waist and the resulting contented sigh from Thomas made him shiver.

They pulled apart, only slightly, to stare at each other, James biting at his own lip.

“I love you.” whispered Thomas.

Several emotions rushed through James at once, most of them related to panic. They had only known each other six months. James had swore to himself he’d never get so close to another person, not after what happened with...well. And Thomas, surely if he thought himself in love it was because he didn’t know James well enough, was yet to see his true self and then Thomas would run, leaving James alone in the dark. The words...sounded so right. It would have been so wonderful, James knew, to be able to say them back, But he couldn’t. He couldn’t. He couldn’t. 

Instead what he said was “Will you think less of me if I invite you in?”

That night November’s chill was soon forgotten as James lay with Thomas curled around him. A dark little voice in his head whispered that things would inevitably fall apart, but he was determined to take this happiness while he could.

*

By December 24th, they had already agreed to both spend the night at Thomas’ flat. James had been let in mid-afternoon by the housekeeper, who had then immediately left for her own home, and James had set about making sure the heating was just right before stripping and curling into the blankets. When he received a text from Thomas saying he’d be home in five minutes, James had started to set things up. Thomas was home, in fact, in ten minutes, meaning that the brief bravado James had managed to summon in an effort to be cheeky and playful had now left him feeling a bit ridiculous. He smiled sheepishly at Thomas, who stood in the doorway, apparently slightly stunned at seeing James handcuffed to the headboard with an absurd, gaudy red ribbon tied around his cock. 

After the initial surprise Thomas laughed, but seeing James’ skin turn the same colour as the ribbon, his freckles standing out against the blush, Thomas quickly strode over to kiss him, running his hands through James' copper hair that he often seemed fascinated with. Chuckling, but not unkindly, he kissed along James' jaw and thanked him for such a brilliant present, making James all the more nervous about the books he’d hidden in the linen cupboard to give to Thomas the following day. Then Thomas’s mouth continued downward and he briefly forgot all about them.

The ribbon stayed on until afterwards.  
*

James had never seen the point in making a big fuss over New Years, so when Thomas had invited him over to “celebrate”, he had been a little apprehensive before Thomas confirmed it would just be the two of them. He had been pretty certain they’d have sex, but as always Thomas managed to surprise him, and with just a few minutes to midnight James found himself groaning in delight as he was fucked, hard and fast, against the window. The glass was freezing against his palms but the rest of him felt like a furnace, sweat running from his temple as he gasped.

The fireworks were going off and the streets were filled with screaming crowds. Though logically he knew it was too dark for them to be witnessed, not a single light on in the room and far too high above the crowd for anybody to be able to properly see them, the idea of it, the concept of Thomas putting him on display and showing him off as they fucked, marking him, claiming him, had him coming faster than expected, streaks of white hitting the window just as Big Ben started to clang. Thomas groaned as he bit James ear, gripping his hips tight, and once finished, pulled out and wrapped his arms around James’ chest. For all that he couldn’t see him, he just knew Thomas was grinning as he leaned forward to whisper “Happy New Year”, and James couldn’t resist turning around for a kiss.

 

*

 

Work kept Thomas so busy they barely saw one another for about a month and a half. It was horrible.

February 14th made up for it, though. Hatred of tacky decorations and excessive consumerism aside, it had been a long time since James had spent Valentine’s day with someone, so to be spending the evening with a gorgeous man he adored bouncing on his cock felt unreal. Thomas had his lip between his teeth, his eyes screwed shut, and a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face. His expression could’ve been mistaken for pain if he didn’t keep grinding down with unbridled enthusiasm, and when he let go of his lip to gasp “Yes, yes, yes…” James took it as encouragement to fuck up into him. Before long they found a harmonious rhythm and both were struggling not to let go too soon. James scratched down Thomas’ back as Thomas bit into James’ neck and they both cried out as they came together. In the afterglow James had chuckled, pulling Thomas close and kissing his forehead - they had shaken all the rose petals off the bed but the champagne in the bucket on the nightstand was definitely appreciated. James still felt his mouth going dry and his lips clamping shut when he came close to saying those three words, but he couldn’t keep his heart from swelling with affection as Thomas beamed up at him, and James curled in for another kiss before reaching for the drink.

*

On March 15th, James’ adoptive Father died.

Thomas had come in that morning to find James standing in front of the window, frowning down at the streets below. He made no noise, no movement when Thomas came in, and so Thomas had very gently, slowly, and with a deliberately loud “James?” had reached his hands out to James’ shoulders, whereupon James had curled in towards them and explained the news. They had spoken about their respective fathers before; James had idolised Hennessey in his youth, had thought him a hero and dedicated his life to making him proud, but in James’ early twenties there had been a massive falling out and they hadn’t spoken since, more than ten years ago now. As always, James felt a twinge of guilt talking about it; Thomas’ father was far worse than James’ ever could have been, and Thomas still carried the scars, both physical and mental, to prove it. For all that he and Hennessey had fought, the man had never driven James to the point of carving rows into his own forearms. But Thomas, his sweet, selfless Thomas, simply let him talk and cry say over and over how much it hurt and how confused he was, unsure of what he was supposed to feel. In the end Thomas had held him, whispering that there was no one way he was supposed to feel, that it was understandable for him to be upset in a complicated way, and that Thomas would be there for whatever he needed. That had set James crying again and Thomas held him through it, keeping close for the rest of the day. They had had tea and takeout and pretended to watch TV while really James had retreated into his own head and Thomas kept an eye on him. Towards the end of the day, after a shower and more tea, James had led Thomas by the hand to his room and kissed him, slowly, deeply, sadly.  
“Will you make love to me?” murmured James. He had chosen those words deliberately; not fuck, make love. “...because, we’re here and, and alive, and I...we...we have this…” he gestured helplessly between the two of them, but Thomas miraculously seemed to know what he was trying to say - god, how he wanted to actually just say it - and kissed gently but passionately, both hands cupping James’ jaw.

In bed Thomas slept curled around James protectively, and James lay in his arms wide awake, wondering when Thomas would finally get sick of all James’ baggage and the bad luck he carried around like just another part of himself and go find someone who actually deserved him. He very briefly considered leaving but even as he shifted, just a little, Thomas wound his arms tighter around him, and James, helpless against them, tucked his head under Thomas’s chin.

*

By the end of May they were both stressed beyond what they could handle, needing an escape from reality and a little indulgence in fantasy, so James was delighted to find they shared a common secret want. James had blushed as he confessed his idea, but Thomas seemed all too keen to indulge, and so on May 28th, James found himself bent over Thomas’ bedroom desk, throat collared and hands cuffed behind his back in padded restraints that wouldn’t hurt but did definitely bind him and were connected by a thin metal chain. He groaned as Thomas finished attaching the cock ring to him, keeping him hard but not finished for as long as Thomas decided.  
“You remember the safe word for if you want to stop?”  
James nodded frantically, trying not to drool on the desk.  
“Good boy. And James?”  
James turned his head just as Thomas smacked his ass, hard.  
“Happy birthday”.

*

As July turned into August Miranda hosted garden parties, and they inevitably found themselves at one, drifting among her eclectic group of friends, tipsy and warm and leaning heavily on one another. Miranda was telling yet another ridiculous childhood story about Thomas as he groaned in faux embarrassment - truly, Thomas could know no shame. As James laughed along, he couldn’t take his eyes from Thomas, framed in gold by the fading sunlight, every feature wonderfully lit up or perfectly shadowed, the backdrop of the clear sky almost as intensely blue as Thomas’ eyes, and James tried his damnedest to commit this moment to memory, hoping it would be one of the last things he remembered when he was old and his mind nearly gone. He felt as if he could face any sort of pain the future could hold so long as he had this moment, kept safe in his mind and in his heart.

The spell was broken as the couple who had been sitting on the bench across from them, kissing so thoroughly the redhead’s hat had come off and the dark woman in her lap had knocked over several plates, fell right off the bench and onto the grass, everyone laughing at them while a skinny man with a meticulously styled moustache scrambled to get his phone out for a picture. The afternoon and early evening were so full of lazy joy that when they arrived at Thomas’, James, so happy and content he felt as though his heart could burst, dragged a chuckling Thomas into the back seat of the car with him.

*

 

In mid October, they headed for a gay bar James hadn’t visited since his younger years. It had been Thomas’ idea, naturally; James hadn’t been keen on it but he now found anywhere Thomas went, he would follow. If it were for anyone else but Thomas he’d think himself rather pathetic. As it was, he found himself huddled against Thomas at the corner of the bar, the shouts and cheers of the crowd around the bar and on the dance floor drowning out anything actually intelligible and providing a sort of intimacy in it’s white noise. Once again Thomas’ work had got in the way of the two of them and Thomas had wanted to spirit them away somewhere nobody would come looking for him, and now, with Thomas’ arm around him and their foreheads pressed together, James felt like they were in their own little world.  
“Take me home, Thomas.” mumbled James, straining up to press a kiss to the corner of the taller man’s mouth. “Take me home.”

Home, wherever Thomas was. Home, wherever Thomas led. Home, Thomas’ arms.

As they passed through the exit and started walking through the winding streets that led to the bus that would get them back to James’ it struck James that tonight he had to tell Thomas how he felt. He had to say it. It wouldn’t make sense to continue without him finally vocalising what Thomas meant to him; bright, beautiful Thomas who was kind and considerate but also passionate and clever and strong and bloody terrifying in an argument. Thomas who in adulthood still had the same challenging, boyish grin that appeared in all his school pictures. Thomas who had survived an abusive household and come out a righteous person who fought for others. Thomas who knew James, truly knew him, the good and the bad and the horrifying, and had not once taken back the statement he’d made after only six months of them knowing each other.

It was just as he realised this he saw the man creeping out of the shadows with the knife.

Apparently Thomas had seen him first; just as the man lunged forward towards the couple in front of them, so did Thomas, his powerful arms throwing them both out of the way just in time, but he wasn’t fast enough to move himself. James saw the whole thing as if in slow motion, as he moved Thomas had slightly thrown him back and he stumbled, helpless for the shortest of moments, as Thomas had moved into the way of the stranger and collapsed to the ground as blood started to stain his shirt where the knife had landed.

The attacker paused, seemingly shocked at having missed his target, and so James took that moment to grab him by the collar with one hand and use the other to bury his fist in the man’s face twice. The assailant was tiny and hit the ground as soon as James let go. If he’d had more time James would’ve gladly kept going until he was barely alive, but for now his priority was Thomas. Thomas himself was still conscious but barely, and James couldn’t gauge the size or depth of the wound. There was so much blood. James scrambled for his phone to call an ambulance but his hands were shaking; luckily he had been beaten to it by the blonde woman Thomas had saved, standing there and practically shouting the street address into her phone as the man she’d been with tried to tug her away.

James crawled over Thomas and ripped a length of fabric from his own shirt to try and stay the bleeding. Very slowly Thomas moved his arm and brought his hand up to James’ cheek, the same way he had when they first kissed.

“You’re gonna be alright.” James choked out, dimly aware he was crying and not sure whether it was Thomas or himself he was trying to reassure. “You’re gonna be alright. Stay with me now.” As Thomas’ eyes started to close and arm started to drop James caught his hand, bringing Thomas’ knuckles to his own lips. “I love you”.

*

 

James was stone-faced the entire journey to the hospital and conversation with the police. It didn’t matter that he was being thanked or praised or called brave; that the attacker, Peter “Ratbag” Ashe was the key to a criminal network the authorities had been after for a while; that the couple Thomas had saved involved a politician’s daughter; that James recognised Peter as being an associate of Thomas’ own father. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Until he heard that Thomas would be alright, nothing mattered.

Miranda arrived not long after he messaged her; she had been the only person that had came to mind when he thought of who Thomas would want him to tell. She’d hugged James fiercely upon seeing him and cried into his shoulder for a while as he held her, still expressionless, before she straightened up, wiping the tears with a tissue from her purse, and taking James’ hand as they sat in the waiting room together. She kept trying to reassure him that the long wait didn’t necessarily mean anything; that it was just the state of hospitals these days and Thomas was likely fine. Eventually they fell into uncomfortable silence, James unable to say or do anything but squeeze her hand in gratitude for her being there.

At long last James was summoned by a doctor and told Thomas was going to be fine, the knife being at such an angle that it thankfully didn’t go too far in, and now what Thomas needed was rest, but after he had woken up he wouldn’t stop asking for James and they were worried he was going to strain himself and tear the freshly stitched wound back open if they didn’t see each other. James had rushed immediately to his side, Thomas beaming the minute he entered the room.

“James” he breathed out, looking half asleep, and James wondered what he’d been given by the hospital staff. “My James.”

James had knelt beside the bed, the chair not close enough, and kissed Thomas’ wrist to feel his beloved’s pulse against his lips. “I’m so sorry”.

Thomas blinked. “What for?”

“For not protecting you. For bringing you into territory I knew was rough. For not telling you sooner that I love you. I do, Thomas. More than I’ve ever loved anyone. More than I thought I was capable of. I love you so much it terrifies me and tonight, tonight I could’ve lost you…”  
James trailed off as he swallowed a sob. He’d already cried too much.

Thomas took James’ hand again from where it had slipped to the sheets.  
“My truest love.” said Thomas “You have done nothing wrong.”  
“But...”  
“James. No. I’m no saint and I don’t expect anyone else to be one either, but you...you are the best man I have ever known. Don’t you dare try and apologize for things you have no control over, pain other people have caused. You may take responsibility for nobody’s actions but yours, and as for telling me - I would’ve waited forever for you. It was you who had to come meet me. You had to be ready. I’m not upset about waiting for you.”

That was it; James couldn’t hold back from crying again. He’d have to go fetch Miranda soon, he knew, relieve the poor woman of her worrying, but now he simply leant his head, gently as possible, against Thomas’ shoulder and cried into the night as he wondered how he could possibly have found someone so perfectly matched to him

*

November came around again and as usual, it was fucking freezing. Thomas was now out of the hospital but still healing, the flesh around his newest scar bruised and tender. He had joked, with a not-quite-there smile that it was just another to add to the collection and James had resolved that once Thomas had healed enough James would kiss every part of him, including the scar, as he had all the others. They’d stayed in bed for most of the day in a pile of blankets, reading to one another and exchanging slow kisses. Thomas had turned his phone off, taking a break from Miranda’s non-stop barrage of texts, and had spent the last hour stroking James’ hair. James leant his head against Thomas’ heartbeat, dozing lightly but just awake enough to hear Thomas fondly whisper “I love you so much. Happy Anniversary”. James positively beamed, feeling absolutely electric with happiness as he answered “Happy Anniversary. I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written fanfic in ages and I've never posted to ao3 before so I'll be honest, this is sort of an introductory experiment and I'm aware it isn't great, but I'd still really appreciate you sharing any thoughts. It might even encourage me to do better next time :P


End file.
